Of Books and Feathers
by PetraS
Summary: Charles never cared about the backstories of his family of gang members. He was here to do his bit till he would find a reason to move on. But sometimes, sitting under the oak tree, his eyes would stop on the gentle, dreamy bookworm and he wonders just why she would choose to be here. Unlikely romance - Charles Smith/Mary-Beth Gaskill.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Charles never cared about the backstories of his family of gang members. He was here to do his bit till he would find a reason to move on. But sometimes, sitting under the oak tree, his eyes would stop on the gentle, dreamy bookworm and he wonders just why she would choose to be here. Unlikely romance - Charles Smith/Mary-Beth Gaskill.**

She had been there from the start, but it was only a month after Charles had joined the gang that he noticed her. His brown eyes had grown large at the sight of a stranger emerging from the woods, a book in her hands and her eyes glued to the faded yellow pages. Her dress, as long and plain as it was never got in her small elegant stride and he found himself conflicted for the first time in his new position as a guard. The gun in his hand felt heavy - an unarmed and relatively harmless young woman in front of him and his finger never daring to edge near the trigger. He had been here only a month and he could not afford to be causing anyone trouble or attracting trouble. This woman could be both or none.

He found his mouth dry - conversation was never his strong point, but how were you to talk to potential killers in the form of elegant bookworms anyway? He almost let her walk through to the camp when an image of a little boy following him around came to mind. Jack, son of Abigail and potential son to many would follow him around as he collected herbs littered around the camp. He had told the boy a secret - he liked feathers and Jack had emerged with a squawking chicken and had smiled toothily - _"This chicken has tons of feathers, Uncle Charles!"_ He had reluctantly accepted the present, but quickly he grew fond of the boy even when he had reminded himself that he could trust none. And now letting this woman who could be anyone walk right up to that boy was something unacceptable to him.

"Hey." He announced, his smooth voice slightly gruff at the edge with a warning. The best approach was to handle this as cleanly as possible which meant more observation and little chitchat. A singing bird flew down from the third branch and swiftly glided to the other before the girl looked up, her greenish blue eyes far away even when they connected with his own. She blinked for a few seconds, her face so open and unconcealed that he wondered what had lead him to think she could be someone dangerous. Unless, this was her tactic - to play dumb and get a clean pass from dangerous men like him.

But then she smiled, her teeth glistening in the setting sun and her cheeks red from exertion. "Mr Smith!"

He almost asked who she was talking to, but he quickly collected himself when she shut the book and turned her body to face him, her attention now solely for him. He lowered the rifle then, trying to defuse any danger she may feel from him, but kept a hand above his left leg where his fingers brushed the hilt of his hunting knife. He had been in this environment long enough to know that innocent faces were often the most devious ones.

"Oh, what a pleasure it is to see you settling in! Although, I am sure it's boring as hell being on guard duty." She ended the sentence with a tinkling laughter - a sound Charles had never heard before. His mother never used to laugh much - no doubt the grief of being disowned from her tribe always on her mind and the _ladies_ at the saloon only ever let out an occasional belly laughter here and there. He must have been distracted for his fingers that were tracing the hilt of the knife were now relaxed at his side and he quickly placed them where they needed to be.

"Are you okay?" She finally asked, her freckled forehead crinkling ever so slightly as she leaned forward on her toes to peer up at his face. "You look really confused. Is it the heat?"

"No." He stated simply, his eyes narrowing again.

This time it was she who looked confused. "No what? No, I am not okay or no, it is not the heat?"

She was good, he decided. Playing dumb and around his obviously straightforward answers, she was wasting his time with talk and allowing her accomplices to slip in unnoticed. He turned to look behind him, but found only a deer in the foliage hopping away into the sunset. Was she a lone wolf then perhaps?

When he turned to face her again, he found her eyes fixated on his beaded necklace. "Wow . . . pretty." She whispered to herself, but just loud enough for him to catch it.

It had belonged to his mother once and he deeply cherished it. She had enough training in this art of deception to know that jewellery was always a good icebreaker for conversations and for drawing attention to mundane things. Charles was now ready to call her out on her bullshit - the knife clutched tightly in his hand - he didn't want to disturb or worry the others and this was the only way even if he did not prefer it. He had never used a hunting knife on a human before.

Suddenly before he had even brought his arm forward, she shrieked - a hand clutching at her light brown ringlets with authority and Charles let out the breath he did not know he had held. Before him, stood the woman everyone called Miss Grimshaw. Like her name, she often came when something grim had occurred and Charles had learned that very soon when he had disappeared from the camp for a day of hunting without informing anyone. He had never had to answer for his whereabouts and the concept still seemed alien to him, but he had taken care to not anger the woman again.

"Just where the hell have you been, Miss Gaskill?" She yelled, her hand shaking the girl's head for emphasis. She shrieked again, tears forming at the corners of her eyes as she bent towards the woman to ease her pain. Charles was surprised then that Miss Grimshaw knew the identity of this stranger - his knife disappearing back into the belt and the tension leaving his taut body like the fading rays of sunshine.

"Nowhere - Miss Grimshaw! Just a walk, I swear, just a walk!"

The woman sneered. "Not walk, Miss. Idleness! You slacking off while I do the work - how dare you!"

"I am sorry! I am sorry! I am sorry!" She cried frantically in response and it was then that it hit Charles. He had never noticed her before, but he had remembered Miss Grimshaw tearing her lungs apart looking for a Miss Mary-Beth Gaskill. At the time, Charles couldn't have cared less - the wheels had needed fixing, the horses had needed grooming and they had been short on supplies _again_ and the last thing he needed was facing this old woman with a temper as big as his leader Dutch's.

So this was the girl Grimshaw had lost sleep over and caused many others to as well?

As if reading his mind, she turned to him with a start - her grey eyes that were once clouded with fury regarded him with mild respect. "And was this stupid girl bothering you too, Mr Smith?"

He almost didn't bother to reply, but then her tear filled, frightened eyes met his and he felt compelled to speak the truth. Whatever the truth was at this point. "No."

She sighed with relief, a small smile lingering on her lips for him just as Grimshaw lead her deeper into the camp. He was left alone once again, the silence of the night not as comforting as it usually was for it was filled with many questions.

Charles did not like thinking about the _what ifs_ , but he felt obliged to think through them at this point. He had almost killed one of his own gang members due to his own lack of attentiveness. Had he been so fixated on his work that he had not noticed the girl? His troubled thoughts prevented him from feeling tired and sleepy.

And so the next time he carried out his chores around the camp, he always made an active effort of noticing the dreamy bookworm hiding behind a shaded oak tree. And sometimes, a thought would enter his mind - just why was someone like her here?


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't his business if they beat Kieran Duffy to death. It wasn't his business to be sticking his nose in their business. Charles had learned this lesson a long time ago - to keep your distance from even the people you had some semblance of trust with. No, it wasn't his business what his gang members did with their hostage even if it bothered him a lot.

The man, a subdued frightened look in his eye, had lost a considerable amount of weight since his capture. The likes of Micah Bell and Bill Williamson enjoyed torturing him, not only physically, but mentally too. They would wave their venison drumstick in his face and laugh at the poor sight he had become. The likes of Lenny Summers and Javier Escuella would look at him with sorry eyes, but would only ever speak up for him in a spree of anger. He didn't do either because it wasn't his business after all.

It was quiet in their current camp, Horseshoe Overlook. The sun was barely peeking from the eastward valleys and the birds had only just begun to chirp. Charles was already awake despite not being on guard duty, but he had never let his camp duties change his way of life. His mother had instilled in him to respect nature and live side by side with it. So he would awaken with the birds and retire with them. The rest of the gang members were unaware of this, but they always complained when he would disappear around the same time every evening.

He had done his morning business and was smoking a cigar behind the oak tree when a movement from the corner of his eye stilled him. The bookworm was tiptoeing around the asleep gang members - a pot of stew in her hand as she approached the sunken hostage. He watched as she poked his shoulder lightly, her eyes darting behind her with slight fear. When he roused from slumber, he gasped loudly and she clamped her dainty hand on his mouth.

"Quiet now!" He trembled under her touch and she leaned forward, her voice gentle now. "I ain't gonna hurt ya'. I was only worried."

Charles hated eavesdropping. It was not honorable in his eyes and also brought with it a lot of problems. Yet, he knew to reveal himself now would lead to more complications and he already had enough things on his plate to worry about. So he stood, silent as a hunter watching when she held a spoonful of stew to his lips.

"Eat now. I couldn't salvage much, but I hope it does ya' darn good." He didn't need to be told again. The O'Driscoll ate hurriedly and stared sadly at the empty bowl when Mary-Beth placed it on the barrel behind her. "That there's all I have."

She stepped away, recalculating her route back to her small makeshift tent when the O'Driscoll sighed. "Thank ya', miss. Thank ya' kindly." She only stared back sadly before disappearing into the darkness again. The O'Driscoll sunk again, fatigue overtaking him in new bouts of slumber and Charles snuffed his cigar out before walking away into the woods to find some game. He hadn't seen anything. It wasn't his business.

* * *

Simon Pearson slammed his hands on the counter with anger and frustration. His butcher's knife clanged by the metal stew pot as the chef advanced towards his leader, Dutch van der Linde. The leader of the gang took his time to close the book and meet the former sailor's eyes. "Yes, Mister Pearson?"

"Some dirty thief has eaten all the stew!" At this, he chucked the empty pot on the ground and Dutch watched as it rolled away leaving a putrid smell. He doubted anyone would miss Pearson's stew, but it was surely the only thing that kept most of them fed.

"So make some more, Mister Pearson." He said blandly, his eyes lingering on the silky bookmark, longing to start reading again.

"Ya' think it's so darn easy, don't ya' Dutch?" The chef accused, pointing at his stash of hidden cheese, crackers, and oatcakes. "I am the one that's gotta feed the folk! If one mouth eats more then one mouth goes hungry!"

Dutch sighed, knowing that once Pearson got on his case he wasn't going to let go. Placing his precious poetry book on the side, the leader stood up and called everyone to the center. The ladies were the ones instantly coming over whereas the likes of Charles and Arthur merely looked up from their positions. Dutch did not care - he simply wanted this case rested so he could return to some peace.

"Listen to me, all of you, for a moment. Now, we've had a tough few months since Blackwater happened. Supplies are minimal, medicine is scarce and food is practically non-existent. Now I know hunger strikes the strongest of men, but stealing from each other is as low as the degenerate O'Driscoll yonder!" He sighed, pretending to appear grave as if great wrong had been done, before outstretching his arms to his folk. "There is a thief who has fed on two meals in the span of a few hours! Now I am a forgiving man, so I will let this instance slide, but should it happen again then food will be monitored. Let this be a warning. Thank you kindly."

Charles watched as Pearson grumbled at the speech and returned to his station like everyone else. Except for the thief in question, the bookworm. She stood standstill watching the space their leader had occupied for the speech. Then she turned to meet the large eyes of Kieran Duffy; her face equally frightened. Charles wondered then why someone who was so powerless would choose to rebel in such a distinct manner. He didn't understand, but it wasn't like it was his business. No, it was not his business.

* * *

Days had passed and he knew that she was not sneaking him food. His eyes were wild again, growing insane at the sight and smell of food and there came a point when Karen and Abigail would not dare to walk past him anymore. He smelled bad and soon Dutch had begun to complain to Arthur to bath the hostage. The protegé who never refused his leader simply walked over with a bucket of water and had dumped it on the trembling hostage. "That there's it. _Ayy_ bath." He had announced before riding away for whatever his business was to Valentine.

Micah and Bill had laughed raucously, their bellies shaking and chins wagging. Charles found himself thoroughly annoyed that he had thrown his mallet so hard against the wheel that it had a visible crack running through it. Still, he wasn't going to get involved and he was sure no one would either until a blur of pink and brown rushed past him - a brown towel in her hand.

He, as among the other gang members watched as the girl wrapped the shivering hostage in a big bundle of green. Some mouths dropped at the sight whereas many others tensed in furious jealousy. The quiet gang member was not oblivious to the obvious affections many held for the girl. But she had a little mind for such things for her eyes were always cast in a world hidden away in the yellow pages. Miss Mary-Beth Gaskill was an oblivious girl, but never had he thought she was bold until now.

"Ya' darn sorry bastards! Enough now! Kieran has done and suffered enough!" Silence swept through the camp until Dutch sauntered over; his eyes holding endless empathy for the girl, but barely any for the suffering hostage.

"Miss Mary-Beth. Truly, it is troubling you to see something _so_ horrific. Our friend, O'Driscoll is a sore sight for the eyes, but his suffering will soon end." Both the girl and the hostage looked hopefully up at the taller man. "When he confesses what he knows!"

"I ain't no O'Driscoll! I have done and said it a million times!" He protested weakly as the gang leader led the girl away from him. "Please, I ain't an O'Driscoll!"

In his hoarse voice, Dutch called out. "Would someone please silence that creature!"

And then Charles watched as Micah and Bill competed to race over to the hostage. Micah reached first and landed the first punch knocking him out. Bill didn't care and landed another too. This time he cared enough to turn and walk away, his heart disillusioned at the barbarity of his gang members.

* * *

Another day had passed and Charles had already left the camp for some peace and sleep. Once again, Miss Grimshaw had demanded to know where he was off to and he had used the same excuse as before - an evening walk. Javier had been sad that he would not stay to play his harmonica while he sang, but Charles had a little mind for such things today. He found their presence unbearable, anger simmering beneath the surface.

He parted the bushes that obscured his private space and stopped upon seeing an unexpected intruder. A figure was hunched over - sobs wracking through its tiny body from the severity of her grief. It wasn't hard for him to realize who the intruder was. The brown ringlets shone in the moonlight, the wind flickering the pages of the book wildly.

Uneasiness set in his heart as he wondered what course of action he should take next. Comforting a crying woman was something he had never done before, but standing around watching someone cry made him feel uneasy too. It wasn't his business after all, so why was he calling out to her?

"Hey."

She squeaked, a sound that reminded him of Jack before whirling around to face him. "Mister Smith." She finally sighed, defeated. "What brings ya' here?"

He wasn't going to reveal to her that this was where he tended to sleep. "Just a stroll."

"Oh. Don't let me stop y'all then." She muttered, turning to face the hill again.

He nodded even though she could not see him and moved to leave until he heard her whisper. " _Aw_ ya' could join me."

He was already sitting, his back against the oak tree that had become his personal headrest in the last few weeks. Mary-Beth watched him, her blue eyes watching him even as he closed his eyes to the gentle breeze.

"Y'all seem awfully comfortable there." She remarked, wiping her nose on the hem of her pink skirt. "It's strange. I thought I was the only one who was done with that _place_."

Charles had a perfectly good idea of what she was referring to, but he chose not to reply. What did she expect to hear anyway? And why would his opinion matter?

Another sigh escaped her and then she was flicking through the pages roughly. He opened his eyes, mildly curious as to what had shifted her mood by such a large spectrum. When she noticed him staring, she glared furiously. "Ya' don't even speak. I feel as if I have done all the talking!"

He chuckled, drily. "I haven't much to say."

Mary-Beth slammed her book shut and turned to face him. "Then tell me if ya' also don't care one dime about Kieran!"

Did he care about the hostage? If someone had asked him this a few days ago, he would have said no. But after today, he was not so sure anymore. "He's an O'Driscoll." He stated, factually.

Shocked tears sat on her long eyelashes. "But still a person!"

He stared back as if she had just slapped him across the face. His mother, when she was bright and alive had said something along the same lines. _Charles, everything is precious. From the mountains to a grain of sand, all is sacred._

Words that held so much weight, yet he had not honored them. How could he have honored them when today was the first time he had looked in the mirror? The mirror that was shown to him by a gang member he barely knew.

Disappointed at his silent response, Mary-Beth gathered her gown in her arms and moved to stand. "Ya' is the same as those who turn away! Every single one of ya' is heartless monsters!" And with that, she stormed through the foliage leaving behind her words that made him feel empty to the core and a book that she carried around with her everywhere.

That night, sleep did not come to him. He would stare past the valley at civilization and then at the titleless book. Finally, he had opened it and begun to read.

 _She watched as humanity fell around her.  
In a group of strangers, she had no one to call her own.  
_ _They were surviving against all forces but had forgotten to live.  
_ _In their desire to survive, they had lost much.  
Money, folk and eventually their own humanity. _

Charles had never closed a book so quickly. Those words were exactly what he had been running from for his entire life. But now the truth so crystal clear was sitting before him and he had no idea what to do with it. He could no longer say it wasn't his business, for he had been a bystander to many things that had been wrong. He did not want to standby anymore.


End file.
